Would You Like to Play a Game?
by Noablarenglish
Summary: Want to play a game? Your choice. Alfred is in war and is injured you choose if he dies OR Survives. Rated T for blood and potty-mouth.
1. Chapter 1

This is a game. You have two choices. Two different endings for the story. Choice one: Survival .Choice two: Death. This is where it begins.

BEGININING!

prologue:

Alfred held up his gun and shot into the mass of people. This was hell. This is what he always avoided, war, so why was he here? Why was he standing in a trench, hands trembling and blood soaking his clothing? Sometimes war just couldn't be avoided. He stopped momentarily and coughed. A man ran up to him and a stinging cut let itself be known in his side Something warm trickled down his chin. Blood. Blood of his people. It was only natural, for so many people of his country bleeding, dying. However, this was different, usually only the memory or faint taste. To have it physically be there, he looked down and to his horror it was no tiny cut, the Bayonet of someones gun was thrusted into his stomach. Oh dear God...

"ALFRED." Arthur ran up to the man now on his knees, another man was standing over him, holding a gun, ready to deliever the final blow but looked up, distracted by England's voice. England quickly lifted his musket and shot, the man tryed to move out of the way but the bullet hit its target and he fell. England didn't even think twice about the man when he knelt next to Alfred. Sounds of yelling and gunshot were all around them.

"En...gland?" Alfred panted as he lay on his back, blood slowly soaking the already bloody mess of his shirt.

"Y-Yeah." England replied, unsure what to do as his brother lay on the muddied earth. Alfred, however, smiled.

"Aha, got myself into quite a mess, haven't I?" He said before he coughed. As he did, blood sprayed from his mouth. England only stared. "I-...I'm sorry..." Alfred panted after he had finished coughing.

"For what, you git? It's my fault your here." As England said this he couldn't stop tears falling from his eyes.

"No-...did this to myself." Alfred said, struggling to get the words out between breaths. "Nothing...to do...with you..."

"Nonsense, if I hadn't bothered you about the war, Japan wouldn't haven't assumed you as an Enemy and you would be at home now."

"It...would've happened anyway." Alfred coughed. England finally snapping out of it, realized he should treat the wound.

"Where are you hurt?" He said panicked.

"England, I dont think you can do-"

"JUST TELL ME YOU BLOODY BASTARD!" He shouted, not wanting to drag it out any longer. Alfred sighed.

"Stomach." He mumbled. England immediatly tore opened Alfred's shirt and gasped. The wound was bad but what made him gasp was a fresh, bright, angy burn right next to it.

"This...is this...?"

"Yeah, Pearl... Harbor."

"O-oh..." England didn't take to long staring at it. He went back to examening the bayonet looked like Alfred had been stabbed multiple times before England got to wound was,indeed, in the stomach The pain must have been terrible.

"Don't...see why your surprised, I'm...sure you have worse." Alfred obviously was growing weaker but still was stubbornly making conversation, git.

"Y-yeah but still..." It was true, he had worse but Alfred always seemed like nothing could hurt him. It was a bit of a shock. England shook his head as if it would wipe the image away and ripped the cloth he had in his pouch. He then took out a little vial.


	2. Chapter 2

This is a game. You have two choices. Two different endings for the story. Click chapter 1 one to go to the beginning. Choice one: Survival .Choice two: Death. If you would like another choice, the previouse chapter should be with Alfred surving.

CHOICE: DEATH

"N-No..." Alfred attempted to squirm away.

"You have to!" England insisted, the liquid would burn like hell but it would clean the wound.

"No- It's not that- it's that...you would be-" Alfred gasped. "-You...would be wasting."

"What?"

"It's obviouse...I'm not gonna-"

"What bloody nonsense are you spewing?" England shouted. Of course America would survive, he had to survive. He survived everything! Didn't he...? Of course nations were immortal but only to age. Not to injuries. England shook his head. What was he thinking? America wouldn't die!

"SHUT UP!" England screamed. America smiled, much to Englands panic.

" You always were... a stubborn...old man." England's eyes widened as America's eyes drooped and his breathing slowed.

"NonNoNO!" He said as he lifted up America's head. He threw his head against America's chest. No breathing. England took his two hands and pushed over and over again. He listened to America's chest again. Nothing. NoNONO! Hot tears began stinging in his eyes. He cradled America's head.

"America- Alfred, my boy please wake up, please." He sobbed. He was numb. Everything felt numb. Oh god, why? He remembered Alfred as a young child, growing up, laughing with him, playing silly games, even declaring independence. He couldn't think about how he could even thought of shooting his brother back then.

"WHY, DAMN IT?" He cried as he threw his head up to the dreary sky. He was vaguely aware of a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh,Seigneur, Angleterre..." A man with a French accent murmured.

"He...was my little brother." England sobbed into the corpse's chest. "It's- hic- all my fault." He hiccuped.

"Non, mein petite lapin, it is as much my fault as it is yours." France said softly. "Japan, non, it is not his fault either, for all is fair in love and war, non?

"That's rubbish." England mumbled.

But it was true, wasn't?

So life would go on, it would be painful but it would go on. Until the very end, where they would all meet again. It. Would. Go. On


	3. Chapter 3

This is a game. You have two choices. Two different endings for the story. Click chapter 1 one to go to the beginning. Choice one: Survival .Choice two: Death.

CHOICE: SURVIVAL

"N-No..." Alfred attempted to squirm away.

"You have to!" England insisted, the liquid would burn like hell but it would clean the wound. Alfred still resisted. "Please!" England finally shouted. Alfred froze, Arthur never said please...Hesitantly he nodded his head and put his arms down. England immediatly poured the liquid onto to the beating red wound. The injured man reacted like a cat to water.

"GAHH!" He shouted. "OH f*ck! Oh dear lord!" He yelled in pain. England winced at the others torture. "Oh...too much...god...oh damn it..." He said as tears began to flow on the sides of his cheek, warm and pleantiful. "Oh...please...kill me."

Englands eyes widened. Alfred had been through everything, hell and back, but never, not once, had he asked for death.

"Are you an idiot?" He yelled.

"England please...I'll probaly die...anyway." That was true, even though he was a nation, he wasn't completely immortal. He was, in a sense, stronger than a human, if a normal person had the wound Alfred had, they'd be long dead. However, if a country did die, someone else usually took on the role of the immortality of the personification of the country.

"No, you wont! I refuse to let it happen!" England yelled.

"I'm begging you..." Both men were sobbing at this point. "Just...do it."

"No!" England said this as he slapped Alfred's face.

"Th..thanks."Alfred said as he calmed down.

"No problem..." England responded instinctively. "I'm going to wrap it now, I've got to stop the bleeding."

"O-ok..." Alfred said, not ready for more pain. England grabbed Alfred's arm and the younger nation winced. England gently lifted his brother up. "Oh F****, oh god..." Alfred said, too tired to scream or yell. The pain was unbearable. England began wrapping a white cloth around him, it immediatly turned red with his friend's blood but he kept wrapping. When he was done Alfred looked pale and his eyes began to roll back into his head.

"Alfred! You can't pass out! You have to stay awake!" If the boy heard him he didn't acknowledge it. What was he going to do? Fresh tears presented themselves in his eyes.

"Alfred WAKE UP!"

He then heard a familiar voice.

"Angleterre!" England turned to find France running back toward him with those with multiple stretchers.

"Oh thank God, France!" England yelled at him.

"Coming!" The eldest blonde man ran over to the two. He stopped dead at the sight. "Oh,Seigneur, Angleterre...is he...?

"No! Don't even say it, frog!"

"Oh! Don't worry I'm coming!" He said as he ran down to the trench. Alfred was still breathing but his breath came in short, shallow gasps. France and England both grabbed Alfred and gently put him on the stretcher. A soft moan was heard from the injured country but nothing more. They both ran to the camp site carrying thier dying brother.

"Uhh..." America moaned as he shook his head.

"Your awake."

"Barely." America sighed and immediatly regretted it as a sharp pain pierced his abdomen. He winced.

"Careful, you'll re-open the wound." Alfred said nothing.

"You always did worry too much." Alfred smiled. He struggled to sit up, he was in a hospital bed and France and England wwere seated beside him. England pushed him back down.

"Git."

"Don't upset him too much, Angleterre, he is still seriously hurt."

"It would upset me more if he DIDN'T say git."

"Touche', Amerique."

"Hey! Way to treat the guy who saved your life!"

"Sorry, thanks for that, by the way."

"Your bloody welcome."

"Thanks for not killing me either." At that France raised an eyebrow. England sighed.

"Your an idiot, you know that?"

"Oh yeah? Well your a-" America broke off into a coughing fit. Damn it and he had a really good comeback ready too.

"H-hey!" England sat up. "You ok?" America's response was a nod as he continued hacking up blood.

"Here, Amerique." France handed the boy some water and he gratefully took it and drank before the coughing returned.

"Th-Thanks." America said horsley.

"Ah honhonhon, anytime~" France winked. America rolled his eyes.

"So...Uh...Are we winning?"

"Are we winning? Bloody hell yes!"

"You troops are quite the fighters, Amerique." Alfred chuckled softly at this.

"Yeah...they are."

Alfred limped out of the hospital. He hated crutches. The doctor, however, insisted he use them to keep weight off of his injured abdomen. The cold air of December hit him and he shivered.

"Heh...Haktshou!" He sneezed.

"Damn it, don't get a cold straight out of the hospital." England huffed. Alfred smirked.

And that's how they were.


End file.
